


Liberation

by Dogsled



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama, Explicit Language, Gen, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-06
Updated: 2006-08-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled
Summary: Harry's world has crashed and burned - but still rebellious factions keep up the fight against the wizards. This is Harry's story; the story of liberation.





	1. Liberation

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

With the crook of his hand, Harry motioned as though to go around the corner; and then brought his palm down towards the ground; a sign of silence. He touched his hand to his heart, and then counted out the number three with his fingertips. Pausing for only a second, he began to count down the seconds. Three thousand, two thousand, one thousand… As the last finger disappeared, he moved cautiously and quietly out into the open, content that he would be followed by the rest of his team.

They crept slowly across the black space, sliding seamlessly behind any objects that they could find as protection. As they reached the castle doors, Harry slid out his wand, glancing around cautiously as he did so. Slowly he approached the back door, bringing his wand up to touch against the building. An unspoken spell had the wards down within seconds, and one of the rest of the group made a short noise of surprise before being silenced by another teammate.

Harry froze, waiting tensely in case the noise had been heard. Nothing seemed to happen – no lights turning on in the house, no voices and no noises. Cautiously he moved across the short distance to the back door. A simple ‘Alohamora’ opened it, and he stayed still for a long moment, waiting for his team to join him against the exterior wall.

Moving ahead first, Harry led the way into the building, cautious for any booby traps – but the Wizards that lived here could hardly expect an attack. They moved through the parlor, and out into the kitchen beyond. Two members of the team were lagging behind; enamoured by the sight of the mountains of stockpiled food. Harry knew full well that they would have to wait. If they had a chance when they escaped – a little food could be taken without endangering the retreat – but food was not the purpose of this raid. A simple glare brought them into line; guns at the ready again, in case of attack.

In complete darkness, the group moved soft-footed into the building. When they reached the top of a drafty set of stairs, Harry posted a perimeter guard before descending. The guard was to shout if there was trouble – and the rest of the group would know to come out fighting. Down they went into the chill darkness, as silently as they could on the wet stone steps.

At the bottom, Harry wrapped his wand in his scarf and lit it, directing the pinpoint of light cautiously around the dungeon rooms. The walls were cold, and damp; the large cobbled stones underneath their feet slightly worn, to show their age. Further along the corridor, though, Harry could see rows of closed steel doors, and beyond those, iron bars.

“There won’t be any guards down here,” came a woman’s whispered voice in his ear, and Harry nodded, but made no motion to move forwards.

“It’s not a guard I’m concerned about. A single ward could spring a trap that locks down this chamber and alerts the sleeping wizards upstairs. Just stay where you are while I look for it.”

Harry decided quite swiftly that the most obvious place for such a safeguard to be designed would be the main exit to that corridor. Obvious, yes; that suggested that the real trap would be closer. Cautiously, he edged forwards, lifting his wand out before him. As he came closer to the source of magic, the lumos he’d ignited flared. He stopped instantly, and after a few moments had the wards down. He wasn’t happy though; he didn’t quite feel secure with how simple it had been.

Rather than barrel ahead, he reignited the lumos and advanced again – centimeter by centimeter. The light flared, stronger than before, and Harry stopped again.

When Harry finally deactivated the second ward, he felt the air actually change. The loss of the magic was like a weight off his chest, and he nodded, and moved forwards again, to the first of the steel doors.

A simple Alohamora had the door opened, and a half naked young woman with bedraggled hair and bright blue eyes was found to be the denizen of a room. Harry didn’t dare step inside. The entire room felt like a vacuum of magic; a deep black hole where it simply didn’t exist. It made a chill come over him, and he shivered, and turned to move on towards the next door.

Behind the second door was a surprise for Harry. The Muggleborn that had been contained inside physically rugby tackled him out of the room, knocking him painfully onto his back and scrabbling for his wand. His dirty, broken nails gouged Harry’s fingers, but could not break the grip on his wand before the young man was pulled to his feet by two of Harry’s team. A Silencio was necessary, to prevent the man from shouting and waking up the household, before Harry moved any further along the corridor.

The third and fourth doors held more Muggleborns, as far as Harry could tell. The fifth did not break under the Alohamora charm, and a more powerful spell was necessary to open it. This door wielded a Pureblood wizard who had obviously fallen on the wrong side of the law. He, however, recognized Harry, and knew instantly that he was being rescued. He fell into rank with Harry’s team, utterly silent as they moved along the corridor.

There were no more doors this far out – but lines upon lines of bars. Harry motioned his team to still, and moved along the corridor, cautiously stepping on the driest places to stop his footfalls sounding. Half way down the row, a voice came out of the darkness.

“You’re nawt from ‘ere,” he growled, in a rumbling, tortured voice.

Harry fell still, closing his eyes for a moment before turning towards the source of the voice. “No, we’re with the Resistance,” he replied, in an even whisper. “We’ve come to set you free; but we’ll need your cooperation. Will you help us?”

“Help y’set us free? I’d be crazy not ta,” replied the man, in a slightly more important sounding voice. “What d’ya need me t’do?”

“Wake everyone up,” Harry murmured. “Tell them to keep quiet under any circumstances. If they make a noise…well, I’m sure you know what happens to escapees who get caught.”

The man nodded, and moved away into the darkness, leaving Harry to ever so gently continue along the hallway. At first it seemed that he’d reached the end; but just as he was about to turn away, his hand brushed against a single stone that was a little further out from the wall than the others.

“Damn it,” he hissed, lighting his wand again, and guiding it over the wall’s surface. Three stones stood out, just like the one he’d brushed his hand over. He lifted his wand hand up to his temple, rubbing at one eyebrow with the heel of his hand, before bringing the wand down towards the stones, tapping them in turn. The first sequence didn’t work; neither did the second – but the third sent the stones rolling away, revealing a dark room beyond, which Harry cautiously lit up with his wand. Down on the floor, in the furthest, darkest corner, was a curled up ball of rags and hair.

Harry could feel the vacuum of magic in the room beyond where he stood. If he entered, he would lose his light; but the figure within did not seem to have enough strength to come out to him.

Cautiously, Harry moved into the dark, watching as his lumos dimmed, and then went out. He put his wand away as a lost cause, moving in the direction that the body had been by instinct. Some feet away, he stopped his approach, worried that he would walk into the body. He crouched down, moving a little closer, hands outstretched before him.

His words were soft, crooning and affectionate. “Hey there,” he murmured, “My name’s Harry; we’ve come to rescue you. It’s all going to be fine.”

And then suddenly he was thrown to the floor for the second time that night, by a body that clung to him insistently. He almost fought – the arms around his neck could have been dangerous. But after the first few seconds of shock not resulting in his death, he realized the true nature of this embrace, and he smiled.

“What’s your name?” he questioned the well attached figure.

There was no reply; only a muted sob into his chest, and Harry glanced up to find another of his team standing over him. Nodding, he helped them unlatch the young woman from his chest, and then stood up, brushing himself off. “Are we ready to move out?” he hissed, to his second in command.

“Sooner rather than later, if you don’t mind, Captain.”

Harry nodded, and moved forwards through the collected group, followed by his second. “Keep them quiet as long as you can. As soon as the last one is outside, activate the signal, and I’ll make the Portkey. You remember the old manger?”

“Got it,” breathed his friend, before disappearing again into the darkness. Harry finally got back to the stairs and moved up the first couple before making sure he was being closely followed. Silently he advanced, stopping once to check that the way was clear at the top of the stairs. Out they moved again, this time a little faster over the carpeted floor. He stopped once, in the kitchen, and once he was sure it was only a mouse he’d heard moving, he moved to the parlor door.

It was just as he reached the door that everything went wrong.

An enormous crash behind him; metal and water and human flesh – could only be someone falling over something in the kitchen, or trying to steal some food and misjudging in the darkness. Whatever it was, it would merit looking into later – but for now, he needed to get out, and get the Portkey made.

He broke out into a run, moving out through the back door and across the lawn, followed closely by the broken group behind him. They were terrified – Harry knew why. The lights in the house had all come on at once – two thousand candles lighting on their own. Somewhere in the house, someone was awake, and they would be looking to find out just what had made that noise; and perhaps suspecting the presence of an escapee. Harry skidded to a stop by the manger, just before the trees, and waited for the signal, his heart beating furiously in his chest.

The signal, however, came in the emergency manner, rather than the usual, discreet one. A gunshot that cracked across the vast lawn urged him to hurry up.

The amount of magic that it takes to form a Portkey is incredible – enough to wake up someone inside a house. That was why making Portkeys was the last possible thing that you did before you abandoned a site. It lit you up like a beacon, giving the person you were escaping from the perfect pinpoint to follow.

Harry wasted no time. He made a fifteen second Portkey of the manger, and then shouted out to the people coming towards him over the lawn. “Grab a hold of the manger; touch it with any part of your body. If you don’t, you’ll get left behind.” He took hold of one end of it himself, lighting up his wand brightly to check that everyone was holding on – but there was really no point by now. Already, the sickening sensation of Portkey travel was grabbing hold of him, twisting him through his navel.

Landing at the other end was no better. He stumbled back several steps, then found himself righted by a body to one side of him; the Pureblood wizard from the dungeon. He smiled, as encouragingly as he could manage, then took a good look around; which was helped by the torchlight that lit the chamber they’d arrived in.

“Everyone made it?” The question was almost irrelevant, because he could see that all the members of his team were there. It was more the comfort of being able to speak easily that he conveyed and treasured. The voices nervously bubbled up after that; giving an almost comfortable thrum of sound to the atmosphere of the chamber.

Harry moved forwards, patting his second on the shoulder in congratulations. “Well done, Jules. Pass them on to sector command, and get some rest.” He smiled, and then took another step forwards before being intercepted by another of his team.

“We’ve got trouble.”

Harry, automatically fearing the worst, turned to follow him to find the group parting in the direction they were moving in. Lying in the manger and thrashing furiously against the arms of those that held her, was the bedraggled girl from the hidden room. She was calling his name loudly; again and again.

He moved up beside her, gently moving to take her hand. She grabbed his wrist hard, digging her nails into it as he tried to flinch back.

“Harry!” she hissed again, her wide brown eyes finding his. In that moment the madness seemed to flee from her, and she breathed, “Harry,” again, in a gentle, motherly tone that was far too familiar to him.

Held tightly by the tight fingers, there was no escape for the violent realization that was seeing his friend’s face in the wild, bedraggled wreck that lay in the manger. He was forced to bear it out, standing as he was looking straight down into those deep, soulful brown eyes.

“Hermione?” he asked, tentatively, knowing that he was being watched – his heart beating erratically.

“Harry,” she said, nodding.

“Oh God…Hermione…” It was too much. He moved down to embrace her, though she could not move herself into the hug – simply letting himself be overcome by emotion.

Hermione, one of his best friends… He had given up hope of finding them again, since the great attack on Hogwarts at which the three of them had been defenders.

He was sure by now that they must all be dead. He had blamed himself. For many weeks he had abandoned contact with others, curling up as though to die. He had suffered for their deaths – suffered for everyone – knowing that he ought to have been faster at identifying the Horcruxes, and destroying Voldemort.

He had been too slow, that much was for certain. The Dark Lord still reigned; and Harry knew that not only was that the case, but at least three Horcruxes had survived his purge. What they were, he had no idea.

It was only the Resistance that had saved him. They were a group of Muggles who fought for their slight freedom, living hidden away from the Wizards. After Harry joined them, he had begun to take in Muggleborns, Half-bloods, and the like who had also succeeded in hiding; though very few still had their wands as he had. A natural leader, he had taken immediately to the role of Captain, leading Liberations and food raids on Wizard strongholds.

The fighting had given him a vent for his pain, but in these few moments it was coming back to him with insipid clarity: all that he had lost; the friends, family and allies – his entire life. It was all gone. All but this; Hermione had survived, and Harry had eventually rescued her – though what she had suffered from his continuing slowness, he could not say.

He barely noticed that he was crying; and as he leant back, he found Hermione still looking up at him, confusion in her brown eyes. “Harry?” she said again, questioningly.

“I’m okay, Hermione,” he groused, moving to rub the tears out of his eyes as he leant back. “I should be helping you.” There was a nagging feeling though, that something wasn’t quite right, even as he moved to lift her out of the manger. She was surprisingly compliant, letting him move her to her feet, though she could not stand on them at all, and instantly collapsed into his arms.

“Harry,” she said, in dull apology.

And then he realized what the problem was – the horrid thing that his senses had alluded to.

“Hermione,” he said, slowly, “What’s your name?”

“Harry,” she said, clearly; as though the name were her own.

“You said ‘Harry’,” he replied, evenly, though his heart had leapt back into his throat, gagging him.

“Harry!” she snapped, as though upset with him.

Gently he nodded. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

“Let me take her, Mr. Potter,” came a voice from the darkness. Again the young, dark haired wizard that he’d rescued, making himself known.

“What’s your name?” Harry asked, gently moving to place Hermione in his arms, looking into her eyes one last time, before raising them up to the stranger’s.

The man smiled and pulled Hermione into a more comfortable position against his chest. “My name is Horatio Cadmus.” He half inclined his head. “I owe you my thanks, Mr. Potter.”

“That’s Harry, and it was my pleasure.” He moved to touch Hermione’s cheek, and then looked up to Horatio. “If you take her down the hall, someone in the first room on the left will be able to help you.”

“And I them,” he replied. “I’m a qualified Mediwizard – well, I was – before all this.”

Harry smiled; really smiled, and gave Horatio a half salute. “Thank you. I’ll be in to check on her when I have things settled down again. Thank you, Cadmus.”

“Horatio,” he corrected, before disappearing into the throng of people again. Harry turned back to the task of not only destroying the used Portkey so that it could be burnt, but also or organizing the last dregs of people that had been rescued. This was, perhaps, the most tiring part of a Liberation – finding food and bed room for the newcomers. It got more difficult with every person freed.

Harry liked to try and think that what the Resistance was doing made a difference; but every day he heard of further atrocities, and every day the same reports of slave markets and werewolf hunts. It was as though those few lives that they saved did not make the slightest difference – the Death Eaters ruled superior, and no small scale Liberations could stop their all consuming dominion.

When the hustle and bustle of Post-Liberation camp was settled, Harry was exhausted. There were few hours until the sun rose again, and he’d have to go to the General of Camp’s meeting; a debriefing, of course. It was strange how even the Resistance required that, but Harry knew how essential it was to share intelligence. And after that…he hoped to have some time to spend with Hermione.


	2. The Madness of Hermione Granger

It was, Harry recollected - when again he woke - an extremely peaceful night, in retrospect. There had been no disasters that had required his attention, and at the raid, there had been no battle with armed Wizards, or any unfortunate incidents with the escaping Muggles. No one had questioned his authority, or outright attacked him for being ‘one of them’. In fact, Harry could think of nothing that had really gone wrong, except, of course for the noise in the kitchen. Soon, he knew, he’d know the exact details of what had occurred behind him, but right now, he had to wake up. Thankfully, waking up had never been that difficult for him. Quidditch practice and cooking breakfast for the Dursleys had drummed him into being an early riser.

Groggy and untidy, Harry climbed out of the hammock and made his way straight to the water source; a tapped underground spring. Their home, for the thousand or so people who made up the Resistance here in Wiltshire, was an underground cave system that had been an ammunition storage facility during World War II. He knelt beside the large basin of water and splashed some into his eyes, then rubbed his fingers into his cheeks; closing his eyes tightly as he did so.

“Good morning.”

Harry opened his eyes, and smiled at the woman across from him. “Good sleep, Jules?”

“I got at least two hours more than you, I think,” she replied, moving around the fountain and looking Harry up and down. “Not that it shows, except in your eyes. Oh, and your hair of course. You even look clean shaven.”

Harry smiled and looked down at the water, flushing slightly from the consideration. Ah…it was too early in the morning for this. “Wizards look exactly as they think they ought to look. Unless their appearance has been magically altered somehow…”

“Like Voldemort,” Jules finished, for him, grinning. “Or your scar, right?”

Harry reached up to touch his scar, and then nodded. “That’s right. So I’m always going to look cleanly shaven, unless I start thinking that I ought to grow a beard, in which case…”

Jules smiled at him, moving to splash a little of the water in his direction. “Come on. We’d better get along to the meeting chamber. Old Krone’s going to have our guts if we’re late.”

The meeting chamber was the old Control Room. Old maps of Britain behind glass walls showed most of the old bunkers around Britain. Some were destroyed, others now contained Resistance groups in other areas of the country. Harry knew of two himself; one in the far north; a Highland Unit which was run by members of the RAF, and another in London, in an unopened Underground station.

Harry knew, also, that there must exist some similar units in Wales, and in the Midlands, near Chester and Liverpool – but such information was kept from him intentionally. Already he knew perhaps too much.

Harry and Jules arrived precisely on time, slipping in between the members of the rest of the team; other Captains, and of course the General himself. The General of Supplies was also there, and Harry glanced briefly towards Jules. It didn’t bode well, really. The General of Supplies was in a constant state of stress; as it was his raids that the entire Movement depended upon.

By taking up position at the center on his side of the room, Harry instantly made it clear that as Captain, he was directly responsible for what had happened the previous night, and would therefore take the flak and punishment for anything that was considered inaction, or any bad decision.

Old Krone, who was otherwise known as Michael Kronenbourg, was a graying man with thick black hair, cropped short, and an amount of rugged beard that any Muggle would have after so long without seeing a method of shaving that wasn’t a knife, or a pair of scissors. If it wasn’t for the fact that he had saved Harry’s life on several occasions, and been responsible for taking him into the Movement in the Highlands; Harry might have been afraid of him. After all, he did look an awful lot like Bluto, the Popeye villain, and he spoke in a harsh Scottish accent, that sounded like stones being ground together. Right now though, he didn’t look at all angry with Harry. His eyes kept darting towards David Regussin, the General of Stores, after which his right eyebrow would twitch, and he’d turn back to look at the assembled team.

It was Krone who addressed them first, though, much to Harry’s relief – asserting his own control over the meeting.

“You freed twenty three and six,” he started. That translated to twenty three Muggles, and six ‘Special’ cases, or Wizards, for Harry’s own reference. He’d known vaguely that, however, the night before. Now, he was much more eager to know what the rest of the team had to say. Krone, however, wasn’t quite finished.

“This is the seventh house that has been successfully raided by you, Potter. Others,” he motioned towards the other assembled Captains, “Have not been quite so successful in their Liberations. You have broken the record – you are an exemplary Captain.”

He paused here, as though to let that sink in, then motioned towards Harry. “Deliver your report now, Captain Potter.”

Harry, admittedly, had been surprised by the compliment – but he knew full well it was a part of Krone’s continuing protection of him. Reg wasn’t here just for decorum – he would, no doubt, bring up the question of the pantry stores that Harry had failed to capture. It hadn’t been the first time, of course. Harry’s determination to rescue every prisoner very often resulted in their cover being blown early, and failure to capture stores.

Reg; the General of Stores, was a wiry, ill tempered redhead and a very Anti-Magic Muggle. As far as he was concerned, every Wizard was the same as the others, which translated simply: Harry was as bad, in his eyes, as Voldemort himself. Harry, having grown up around such Muggles, had learnt very early on just how dangerous that could be. It worried him, now. Reg could do some serious damage to him, if he did not behave perfectly, and considering how easily he could be wound up, there wasn’t much challenge in that.

Still, he was expected to deliver his report – and so that was what he began to do.

“The house was exactly where the plans said it would be. There was no discrepancy in the Intelligence we received, and the map was perfect. Entering the premises was easy; typical wards, with the door locked normally. I posted a guard at the top of the stair, and descended, leading the team below. The prison wards were a little more trouble than I’d expected. I experienced two barriers in the prison chamber.”

“Two?” That was Reg – his voice smooth and mocking. “Why would there be two wards?”

Harry did not dare to turn towards him, and actively engage in the bait he’d laid down. He spoke to Krone, as though he’d been meaning to say it anyway. “I believe the second ward was designed to catch out anyone who got through the first ward. There was…a prisoner being held in that building of particular interest to me – and therefore of particular interest to the Death Eater, too.”

“A personal acquaintance?” Reg again.

This time, Harry did not answer. He moved on. “Having taken down both wards, we advanced on, freeing the prisoners in the first five chambers. A man in the main chamber helped to successfully wake the rest of the prisoners, and keep them quiet. I progressed to the end of the corridor, and located a hidden chamber, which contained one final prisoner.”

“Your friend,” Reg pressed.

“My friend,” Harry hissed, narrowing his eyes, but not averting his gaze from Krone. Out of corner of them, however, he saw the corner of Reg’s lips curl up.

“Chssini kissa,” Harry hissed, only loud enough for Jules, and the few members of his team closest to him to hear, before reigning himself in, and continuing. “We began the retreat in the normal way, with Julie Gatcher, my second, coming in behind the rest of the team, and those we rescued. She was to give me a signal when she was in running distance of me.”

“Upon reaching the perimeter of the building, and the exit, I heard a sound behind me; a loud crash. It woke up the household. The team then ran across the lawn to the manger, and I waited for Gatcher’s signal.”

This was Jules’ cue. She lifted her chin and stepped ever so slightly forwards to make herself known. “Commander Gatcher,” she announced, before continuing where Harry had left off. “The disturbance was caused by Verde Knorstrum,” she motioned towards said man; who at least didn’t flinch when he was mentioned. “He tried to lift one of the food dishes, but it burnt his hands and he dropped it. Show them your hands, Verde.”

Verde lifted his hands, showing the red marks that were the reminder of the mistake he’d made.

“You could have gotten someone killed, Knorstrum,” Krone snapped, glancing in his direction. The subject of food, obviously, was wearing him thin.

“At least,” came the annoyingly slimy voice, from said man, “Knorstrum tried to take something.”

“With all due respect, Sir,” Harry interrupted, turning his gaze furiously towards Reg. “Lifting food, or anything else from the house of a Wizard is dangerous business at the best of times. I’ve lost valuable men from touching cursed objects.”

Reg narrowed his eyes, now he had Harry’s attention, his whole body seeming to double in size as he readied himself. “With all due respect, Captain,” Reg snapped, “Every one of us would be dead without the chances taken by a few.”

“If you expect me to jeopardize a rescue operation for a handful of crumbs, you are sorely mistaken, Sir.”

“And if you expect to be kept alive by the glory of rescuing more half-starved servants and whores, then you are mistaken.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply again – but a glare from Krone, and Jules’ stabbing elbow forced him to close his mouth.

“I expect to see something more productive out of these escapades of yours,” Reg hissed, standing up and leveling his glare on Harry. “I know that your kind are particularly useless when it comes to actually committing physical labor. If that doesn’t change, Captain Potter, we’ll simply have to do something about it.”

Harry didn’t react until some time later, when he was in a nice, dark corner of the underground caves. He exploded, venting his fury to Jules, who was equally unhappy with Reg, though much more prudent in her silence.

“That damned Anti-Wizard prick! What the hell does he know?!”

“Keep your voice, down, Harry,” Jules encouraged. Harry turned his gaze back to her, narrowed his eyes briefly, but then relaxed again. He wasn’t angry at her; this much he knew.

“Just relax…you’ve had a trying night…” she whispered, glancing warily down the hall. Harry knew that she would be venting her own spleen, if she wasn’t so worried of Reg’s spies and underlings hanging around.

“I try to save lives, you know…” Harry murmured, lifting his head warily to look at Jules. He sighed and lifted his hand up, rubbing at his eyebrow, which ended up looking thoroughly bristled and untidy by the time he was done.

Jules licked her thumb and smoothed it back down, looking into Harry’s eyes seriously as she did so. “You have other things to worry about right now, Harry. You have to go and see that girl we rescued – your friend, remember?”

Harry nodded, turning to look away from the wall, and down the corridor. “They’ve driven her mad, Jules. Did you hear what she said her name was?”

“She called herself ‘Harry’,” Jules replied, as soothingly as she could, “But she sounded so sad, and apologetic. Couldn’t she just be Confounded?”

Harry lifted his eyes up towards the ceiling. “Even if that is the case, it still needs a team of qualified Mediwizards to work on her – and even then, the chances of recovery are pretty slim.”


	3. Curing

After breakfast, Harry and Jules made their way down the narrow, steep passageway that led down to the deepest area of the compound, where special cases and injuries were kept. There wasn’t so much room down here. Battles with Wizards not only killed many, but resulted in curses and charms upon them that were difficult, if not impossible to remedy. Whilst the enemy killed anyone who was at all useless; the Movement existed to preserve life. But life could be expensive: those unable to fight were one thing only – a drain of resources.

The room in which Hermione crouched in the corner, also contained four other Confounded individuals, five Memory cases, Horatio and a small young woman with short, scruffy brown hair, who called herself a Nurse; or on better days, when you weren’t suffering in some new and novel way, Dot.

Dot and Horatio were currently working together to fix up an obviously self inflicted wound on one of the patient’s shoulders, with Dot showing Horatio just how Muggles would go about treating such a wound. They didn’t even notice the arrival or Jules and Harry until Harry coughed, stirringly.

Horatio stood up, leaving Dot to her work. Without being questioned, he spoke of Hermione. “She’s either Confounded, or insane. I’m not sure which…but I wouldn’t like to give you false hope, either. She’s physically healthy, considering. I won’t lie to you, Harry – our Master was not a kind man. He used us in every way…”

“If you’re saying she was raped, then that’s not exactly a surprise to me,” Harry murmured, though it stung to actually say it. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Yes,” Horatio replied, eyeing him carefully, before glancing towards Dot. “But I would like to mention it alone, if you don’t mind…?”

Harry nodded, and waved his hand for Jules to remain too, sweeping Horatio away into the small room which contained meager medical stores. It was enough of a sound barrier, apparently, because Horatio spoke his mind immediately.

“How much have you told them, Harry? About your past, or your link to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

Ah…well that was a reasonable question. Harry reached up to rub at his eyes, and moved to lean against the door. “I have had to tell them a certain amount, I admit – that I’m a particular enemy of Voldemort’s…” Horatio winced, but waved his hand for Harry to go on when he paused. “There are things even you don’t know, Horatio – about what I - personally - have to do. But yes, I have told them a lot; they would have learnt it another way, otherwise. There are Purebloods and Muggleborns who have heard my name before, living in Resistance bunkers all over the country.”

“It’s amazing that your name hasn’t come back into circulation, with so many people knowing who you are…”

Harry waved his hand. “Good luck, I think. I’m sure I’ll know it when he finds out I’m still alive.”

“Yes; and then you’ll need even more good luck…” Horatio had moved back to the door, and stood beside Harry, waiting for him to move so that he could open the door. When Harry moved, however, he still kept his hand in place, one question on the tip of his tongue, but unspoken.

“Yes,” Harry said, looking deeply into Horatio’s eyes.

“Sorry?” Horatio asked, a little taken aback by the answer to an as of yet unspoken question.

“You want to know if I’m still going to finish him. The answer is ‘Yes’.”

Frowning, Horatio opened the door. “How do you know that was what I was going to ask? I could have asked if you were insane, or something…”

Harry laughed and tapped his nose, moving back into the room. Jules was standing to one side, and looking nervous. Harry could tell what the problem was already: Jules was a warrior, and being around he injured made her self-conscious of her own weaknesses, and possible eventual place amongst them. He often had the same feeling when he looked upon them, but he at least had the security of the prophecy. There was no fear of his simply becoming an empty shell, spending his days staring at white walls – he would die, or he would end this war; it was that simple.

In the corner, Hermione sat looking at them through her tangled mass of hair. She was looking at Harry, really, but because of her position, she had a perfect view of the entire room. Harry could see, in that defensive position, exactly what Hermione had had to learn in her captivity. It stung considerably, and yet he found himself moving towards her none the less. Pain or no, she was his friend.

He knelt down, a meter or so away from her, and reached out his hand in front of him. “Hermione,” he said, gently. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you? Nod, if you do. Just nod.”

Hermione reached out and took Harry’s hand, nodding slowly. “Good,” Harry murmured, gently. A rush of relief had admittedly rolled over him. Hermione was still alive and sane underneath the spell, or conditioning that had been placed on her. He tightened his grip on her hand, and moved a little closer.

“Is there anything you’d like, Hermione? Books? Can you still read?”

Hermione nodded, eagerly, her eyes lighting up with the same passion she had always had around books, and of course the unmistakable light of hope. Harry smiled, wrung her hand again, and then stood up. “I’ll find you some books, Hermione,” he replied, to her brilliant smile, looking towards Jules, who was still frowning.

Together, and with many backwards glances, they again left. Harry, of course, would have stayed longer, if the very emotion of being in Hermione’s presence after having thought he’d lost her was not entirely overwhelming. It made his heart ache in a wonderful way, and yet stung a deep pain inside of him too. Back up the long slope, and in the main hall, he found himself leaning against the stone wall, Jules’ hand on his shoulder.

“It’s too much, Jules,” he confided, pressing his head into the stone and closing his eyes tightly. “I thought she was gone. I was so sure I’d lost her… And now here she is, and she’s suffered so much.”

“Shush,” Jules murmured, stroking her hand over his shoulder soothingly, her head slightly tipped to one side in concern. “You don’t have to take it in too much at once, Harry; she seems like a sensible girl, I’m sure she can tell how hard this is for you.”

Harry nodded, bringing his hands up to his head, and pulling himself away from the wall. “Where am I going to find books, Jules? We never have books…”

“We’re going to have to get some, Harry,” was the obvious reply. Jules was already staring off into space absently, obviously thinking; though it was questionable as to whether she was considering the subject or not.

Harry lifted his eyes warily towards her. “Jules?”

It was enough to snap her out of it. She moved her head to look at him again, and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Oh…nothing, Harry. Just those people down there… Aren’t you ever afraid that you’re going to end up like that?”

“Honestly? No.” Harry didn’t need to offer an explanation, and Jules didn’t want one. She wanted comforting, that was all. “You’re not going to end up like them, Jules. You’ve got me to protect you, for one thing.” He smiled and patted her shoulder. “And you’re far too quick for them, besides. Come on…we’ve got a few hours before we’re expected on Perimeter duties, and I need some books.”

Jules frowned at him, obviously considering him insane. “You’re going to go out there for a few books? In daylight? You’re mad, aren’t you?”

“Out there?” Harry asked, before letting out a peel of laughter. “I’m not that mad. No, I’m going to ask around. I don’t need much – a bible, maybe. I’m sure there’ll be a bible in someone’s possession. Hermione will read anything.”

“Oh,” Jules replied, before laughing too. “A bible: Now why didn’t I think of that?”

Harry smiled and led the way through the corridor. “Now all I have to do is find the priest,” he scratched his head. “Do you think he’ll be in the chapel already?”

“It’s pretty likely.”

“Well then…” and so Harry led the way.

It wasn’t a long walk – well, it wouldn’t have been on the surface, but to get to the chapel, Harry and Jules had to walk through a half mile of tunnels. The chapel was one of the surface rooms – meaning that it was one of the closest to the exit; not that it was in a surface building. Even here, there was only the thin light of the generator to keep it lit – emitting a faint, brownish glow over everything. It was the only light they really had, but it was adequate. The only rooms with brighter lights were the control room and the operating rooms.

In the center of one wall, the priest was standing under his makeshift cross. It had been physically chiseled out of the rock, in lieu of actually having any material to make things out of. A single candle lit the pages of the bible that he was reading from as he preached to the congregation – a healthy number of people, really. It was to be expected really, considering he life expectancy of a Resistance fighter.

Harry and Jules had to wait until the congregation dispersed, at which point the young, robust priest Lucas Wells, had a few moments that he could spare before the next group of people arrived after their shift.

Lucas Wells, despite being incredibly young, was also Irish. He was a wonderful man to know, though Harry did not spend much time with him himself. Lucas was far too busy, being entirely dedicated to every member of his congregation, so that he could name them each by heart. Members of Harry’s team, however, were inclined to Christianity, and thus new Lucas well – and Harry had to admit, even his voice made you feel incredibly happy, upon hearing it.

“Looking for something, Harry?”

Admittedly, it wasn’t much of a surprise that Lucas knew his name. He was one of the most talked about Captains in the Movement, and from what he knew, his team was very proud of him. It made him blush though, to be addressed so familiarly.

He got straight to the point. “I’m looking for a book to borrow, until I get the opportunity to lift some more.”

“So you thought I could put you in touch with a bible?” Lucas asked, picking up on the reason for the visit immediately. “We have a shared system with our bibles,” he explained. “Considering how difficult books are to get hold of, we’re lucky to have the few we have. But I tell you what – your man Verde has one of them right now, and I know for a fact that he knows God’s word inside out already. Perhaps if you ask him, he’ll lend it to you?”

Verde – Verde, that was wonderful. Harry smiled brightly, and gave Lucas a little wave, before stepping out of the doorway again, past the arriving men and women, closely followed by Jules. “Let me guess,” she asked, “Verde’s in the other hall?”

“Hit the nail on the head, Jules,” Harry grinned. “What? Don’t you like walking?”


	4. Listening In

Verde, a skittish newcomer to Harry’s team, and clumsy even by Neville’s standards, was to be found where most team members hung out between shifts: in the main hall. Well, it was Harry’s main hall, at least. One shift kept one hall, and the other shift kept the other. Right now, the main hall was full of wakeful people; while in hall two, everyone was fast asleep. When Harry and the main hall slept, hall two woke to keep watch, and run their own raids.

They ran as mirror units, and it worked quite well that way. It kept a steady watch, and half of the people wakeful, in case of having to mobilize an emergency defense.

He was sitting on the floor, near the rest of Harry’s team, who were talking animatedly amongst themselves. He had his legs stretched out in front of him; bible resting neatly in one large hand. When Harry approached, he closed it, set it down on his lap and sat up nervously to attention.

“At ease, Verde; I’m here on a social call.”

“Sir?”

Harry winced, and waved his hand. “How many times have I told you? I’m Harry when we’re off duty.”

Verde twisted his hands together over the bible, and looked up at Harry earnestly. “Listen – about what happened back at the house…”

“I’m here about something else, Verde. Last night isn’t my problem any more…”

“No, but Sir…”

Harry cut him off again. “Not ‘Sir’, Verde. I’m here about books, not last night’s mission.”

That seemed to throw Verde off enough. He blinked, looked down at the bible in his lap, then turned his attention back to Harry. “Books, Sir – Harry?”

Nodding, Harry moved to sit beside him. “Lucas suggested I ask you about borrowing your bible. It’s for my friend; the one we rescued? She used to read a lot, before the war began – she loves books. I’m hoping that maybe if she had one again, she might come back to herself a little bit.”

Verde looked down at his bible, then nodded, slowly, and reverently lifted it, putting it into Harry’s hands, gently. “I understand. Look, Harry…” he paused, as though, worried he’d be told off again, and so he dropped his voice to a whisper. “You need to know that Reg…before we went on last night’s raid I heard him speaking to one of the other Captains; Lola, I think. He said that…that if you didn’t come back with anything this time, he was going to find a way to get rid of you for good.”

“Why that rotten…” Harry began, but Jules thumped him hard on the shoulder, and Harry looked up. Not surprisingly, he found a pair of eyes watching him – Captain Lola Beringo’s Second, Marcus Zane.

He stood up slowly, patting the bible gently. “Thank you, Verde,” he said significantly, letting him know that he was thanking him for the information and not just for the book.

“Honestly, Kate, you should have saw it while you had the chance!”

“Well, not everyone is so much in touch with modern culture, Jamie. So what happened next?”

Harry tilted his head towards the rest of his team, who were animatedly discussing something or other. Interested, Harry moved closer, squinting, as Jamie and another member of his team, Gordon, jumped back to their feet, acting as though they were fighting with swords. Gordon backed up, looking down at his feet as though he were wary of falling. He was holding on to what seemed like a pillar, by linking his arm around it. His other hand was held to his chest, as though broken.

“If you only knew the power of the Dark Side,” Jamie hissed, his imaginary sword still lifted into the air. “Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father.”

“He told me enough!” Gordon replied. “He told me you killed him!”

A dramatic pause, then, filled with pretend labored breathing from Jamie, who was trying to have a straight face, but grinning stupidly despite himself. “Wait for it,” he hissed, to Kate in the sidelines.

Harry couldn’t help himself, he was sucked in too – he watched in awe, as Jamie took a deep breath, and then said, “No. I am your father.”

“No!” Gordon screamed, his face scrunched up. The yell was so loud that it made a good number of people look towards them. “No! That’s not true! That’s impossible!”

It was quite stunning really, how many of the people around the hall smiled knowingly at the line, and looked towards Jamie expectantly, rather than just rushing in to cart Gordon off to the basement. Ah, the basement…

Harry made to move away, but couldn’t help but watch Jamie speaking the next line as he walked past, followed once more by Jules. “Search your feelings. You know it to be true.”

“Ah…Star Wars,” Jules grinned to Harry, as they picked their way across the hall.

“Was that what that was?”

Jules looked stunned. “You never saw Star Wars? Wow…Hey, maybe…”

“No. No way, Jules.” Harry glanced back over his shoulder towards the still acting pair, and then let out a laugh. “Come on, we’ve wasted too much time already.”

* * * * *

On the way down to the basement level again, and far away from prying ears, Harry allowed his discomfort to show.

“Reg has got it in for me, Jules. He’s actively seeking to get rid of me. Do you think he’s trying to get me killed? Or captured?”

“That’s paranoia, Harry. Why would Reg be trying to get you killed? Verde heard that conversation by mistake – I’m pretty sure Reg didn’t want to sabotage your mission.”

“Oh no? Listen, Jules, I’ve spent my life around plotting and crackbrained schemes. People have staged conversations often enough before in my presence that I’m quite wary of what people say. It’s almost got me killed six consecutive times, Jules. Trust me…”

“Six times? God, Harry…I thought…”

Harry paused, stopping to look into Jules’ eyes in the thin darkness. “The Dark Lord has been trying to kill me for twenty two years now, Jules. Twenty two years of living on a knife edge. For you, and for Reg; this war has only been happening for five of those years. You need to understand…I know him: and there is something about me that terrifies him. If he knew I was alive…if Reg slipped me up enough…”

“Harry, I’m sorry…”

Harry looked up warily to Jules, and forced a smile onto his lips, turning away to walk down the corridor again. He was troubled. So many years of silence…he was sure that the Dark Lord thought he was dead, or perhaps vaguely suspected he might be alive somewhere, but had no proof. If the Wizarding world again discovered that he was alive… Harry knew that there would be an enormous hunt; no stone left unturned. The Resistance would be uprooted in extensive attempts to find him; seeking obviously for the reward that would no doubt be awarded to the one successful seeker. It was that simple.

Rubbing at his temple, Harry stepped again into the bright lights of the hospital area. Dot was bustling around in the drugs room, and Horatio appeared to be standing over Hermione, explaining to her the difference between Dark Magic and Light Magic.

“Dark Magic, of course, has only ever been called such by Wizards of high power. Whenever a spell was made, or learnt to be used about for the first time, the Ministry made a decision as to whether its intentions are Light or Dark, and categorized it thus. Naturally there are some spells which the Ministry used to allow the use of that bordered on Dark.

“The same goes for potions. Obliviate, for instance, was often used in the Ministry; and I personally would argue that love potions, considering their mind affecting, and sometimes life changing powers, should not be considered lightly. Sixth year students in potions, you might recall, were expected to brew the Draught of Living Death – which can kill like a poison if too much is consumed; and I believe we all learnt Stupefy and Reducto? These are all, really Dark, considering their purpose; and yet they were condoned by the Ministry while the Unforgiveables were not.

“Of course, the simple fact is that when Wizards intentionally use spells for evildoing; it is not the spell itself that does the damage, but merely the state of mind in which it is used. Continual usage of any spell for the purpose of evil, will eventually lead to corruption of the individual.

“There are only three exceptions, of course – the Unforgiveables. Casting Unforgiveables will affect a person’s character regardless of their reasoning for casting a spell. In essence, it is quite essential, therefore, to protect people from having to cast such spells. People who had cast them before would more often than not cast them again – and so they were therefore dubbed Unforgiveable. The Ministry considered that someone who had cast one before would be tempted to do so again, and again, until they were too corrupted by Darkness to go back.”

At this point, Harry felt inclined to interrupt. He coughed, and lowered his head slightly, to look at his feet.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry; I didn’t see you there.”

Harry half raised an eyebrow, and stepped forwards. “Clearly – as you might have known otherwise that I myself have cast no less than seven Unforgiveables.”

Horatio was not swayed. He kept Harry’s gaze calmly and asked, “And can you claim that they have not shaped the direction of your life, Harry?”

“I am a fighter, Horatio. Of course my life has been shaped by the Unforgiveables I have used. That does not mean that I am ruled by them. I use them through necessity, and when this war is over, if I’m not dead, I assure you that I will not be using them again.”

Nodding, slowly, Horatio moved over to Harry. “The Ministry made many mistakes in the past, Harry; many mistakes. They locked away children for Crucios used on siblings and they locked away old ladies for putting their suffering pets out of their misery.” He patted him on the back. “Come and talk to Hermione. She missed you.”

Harry nodded, and allowed himself to be walked across the room to where Hermione was sitting cross legged, her hair slightly brushed, and the hairbrush held in her hands. She was watching him again, only now there was much more life in her brown eyes – she was aware of the reality of everything around her. She glanced briefly towards Horatio, then back to Harry – and then she smiled.

“I’m glad Horatio’s such good company,” Harry replied, kneeling down beside her.

Hermione didn’t reply – but she did look towards the book that Harry was holding against his chest. Harry followed her gaze, then smiled and offered it towards her. “Yes, it’s for you, Hermione. I’m afraid it was all I could get.”

Obviously not caring, Hermione snatched the book from his hands and ran her fingers along the faded gilt cover, before beaming brightly up at Harry, Jules and Horatio. Apparently, a bible was good enough.

Harry had been expecting to be able to get more contact out of Hermione – but the book was distracting enough. Before he could even talk to her, she was buried in the book. For a moment, he could have sworn that he was back in the Gryffindor Common Room before this torturous war began, and Harry was busy studying her latest obsession. He turned away, as though to speak to Ron – but he wasn’t there. There was just Jules and Horatio.

A blinding sadness overcame him in that instant – a pain that stabbed right through his chest, and made his eyes water, but not overflow. Jules moved down as though to touch him, to reassure him, but Harry was having none of it. He needed to get out – he needed to get away from this, now.

He ran. Back up the long walk way he went, and then diving through the many laughing, talking heads of the people in the hall above. Up another set of stairs; along past the Chapel, until he could smell fresh air ahead. He came to the checkpoint then, green eyes flying from one side to the other. Nobody was allowed out without good reason, and Harry did not have it.

It simply wouldn’t stop him. He was Harry Potter, after all, and rules or no, he still had certain resources at hand. He stepped back into the shadows and reverently opened his pocket, pulling his invisibility cloak from within, and pulling it over his shoulders. Ever so softly, he made his way past the guards, then up the small ladder to the opening in the mountainside.

Not far out, he edged down onto a small step, under the cover of a particularly scraggy bush, and pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly. Too much, it was simply too much. Hermione – Hermione was here; but Ron. Ron was certainly dead. Ron was gone: no raid would find him hidden in someone’s dungeons. Ron had died in Harry’s arms, from wounds inflicted by Death Eaters after they had attacked and destroyed the Burrow.

Harry could remember his last moments intimately. He could remember the aftereffects of Cruciatus showing so clearly on his face; vicious spasms of pain overtaking him every few moments, so that his face twisted inhumanly against it, and every breath hurt. Harry could remember the blood, and the deep cut that had sealed Ron’s fate: Malfoy’s snake head cane having raked through his internal organs viciously.

He couldn’t help himself – the memories of Ron, of his friend’s blood on his hands… Harry’s lunch had been doomed from the get go, and he lifted his invisibility cloak up sparingly as he hurled into the bush. Panting, Harry drew himself back, resting his head against the stone wall behind him, and closing his eyes tightly.

Malfoy; if there was one person on this earth that Harry would enjoy using the Cruciatus curse on, it would be him. Harry ran both of his hands up to his eyes, covering them with his palms and taking a few deep breaths. It would not be healthy to dwell on how he wanted Lucius Malfoy to suffer: it could only have bad consequences for his sanity. For now…for now he had to get back inside, and play cards with his team for a while – perhaps that way, he might be able to sleep in a couple of hours time.

And he needed to wash his hands – to get the feeling of long dried blood off of them.

Sighing, Harry stood back up, pulling the cloak around himself again and creeping down towards the entrance. He slipped in behind the arriving watch team, falling into step behind them. After a moment though, Harry realized just who’s team he was following: Captain Lola Beringo’s.

Ahead of him, Lola had stopped, and was watching the rest of the team file away. Zane, Harry saw, had just circled the corner, and came up to whisper in Lola’s ear. Harry stopped too, his suspicious eyes falling on the both of them. Together they turned away, making their way back into the offices on this level. Harry followed, cautiously, making sure that his steps fell when Lola’s did.

It wasn’t a long walk to the office of the General of Stores. Reg opened the door for them when they arrived, and by a hair’s breath, Harry managed to slip inside without getting trapped inside the door. He stopped very close to the wall as Reg, Lola and Zane moved over to the desk.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Reg hissed, putting his hands flat on the table and leaning forwards over them.

“Maybe you should wait to hear what Zane has to say first?” Lola asked, in her high, accusing voice. Harry could not see her expression – but he was sure it would be the sassy look that she always seemed to give him.

Zane did not need prompting, he moved forwards himself, and spoke in a low timbre that Harry had difficulty making out. “Verde Knorstrum tried to make that snatch because he heard us talking,” Zane had said – at least, Harry was sure that was what he’d said. “He told Potter about it.”

Reg frowned – Harry could see him clearly – and moved one of his hands off the desk to rub at his jaw. “And Potter’s suspicious of me now, I expect?”

“I’d be pretty surprised if he wasn’t,” Lola answered. “Potter’s a bright guy, that’s why he’s made it so far.”

“Potter is more trouble than he’s worth!” Reg snapped, narrowing his eyes. “As long as he’s here, he’d a danger to all of us, and we need him gone.”

Harry was left wondering whether Reg thought he was a danger simply because he was a wizard – or if someone had mentioned Voldemort’s particular vehemence towards him.

Lola shook her head, slightly. “We’ll be ready when you need us, Reg. Come on, Zane.”

Moving to the door and opening it, Lola turned back to Reg, just as Harry slipped through the door ahead of Zane. “Don’t leave it too long, Reg. Old Krone’s getting on his high horse about how special Potter is…and all this glorifying turns my stomach.”

Reg nodded, and waved her away. Lola closed the door, took Zane’s arm and walked away, back in the direction of the main hall.

Heart beating frantically, Harry made his own slow way back, taking his cloak off when he was sure his presence wouldn’t be noted, and tucking it back into his pocket. Reg, he realized, was far more dangerous than he had previously suspected. Harry would have to be extra careful on his next mission – else there was going to be trouble. And he wasn’t sure he’d be able to salvage it this time.


	5. The Next Mission

  
Author's notes: Harry's world has crashed and burned - but still rebellious factions keep up the fight against the wizards. This is Harry's story; the story of liberation  


* * *

Harry’s next mission was three days later – but he had to leave a day early to make it to his target for the following night. The attack was in Portsmouth – and they could only travel under darkness. This was the only flaw in their working, of course: Because the opening points of portkeys could be traced, the Resistance didn’t dare to make Portkeys from their hideaways. And thus, several days needed to be taken to travel over distances.

After a long two days of travel, though, Harry and his team had arrived near the target site, and were resting their legs as Harry checked his directions.

Infiltrating Wizards houses during war was not child’s play. Everyone was paranoid that they would be somehow killed in their sleep, have their things stolen, or both. There were hundreds of wards and traps, anti-Muggle defenses – the works. Intelligence teams, comprised of both Wizards and Muggles, were the ones who went about searching for these impossible to find homes. Even then, Harry could not be sure exactly what he was walking into. He could be entering a particularly well protected garden shed, for all he knew; or a Quidditch match.

Harry looked back to the Intelligence reports, and read carefully under the dim light of his wand.

‘Upon approaching the wall between the trees at the back of Hayswood Priory’s Graveyard, Muggle members of the team suddenly realized that they had other things to do, and had to be removed from site. Is suspected entrance. Handle with caution.’

Looking out from where they rested, hidden between a mausoleum and the church itself, Harry could see the gap between the two sets of trees. While the rest of the graveyard was full of stones – this patch looked suspiciously empty. Yes – Harry was sure that it was an entrance to a Wizarding home – now he had merely to break the wards and enter.

“Stay here, and keep watch. Any sign of trouble, get into the belltower, and hold your position against any attack. They might try fire – but I know that they would rather take you alive…Extreme circumstances allow radio calls. An emergency team will respond if you activate the radio…If I get through the wards without trouble, I’ll give the signal. Pay attention. Good luck.”

Harry looked into everyone’s eyes, rested his gaze intently on both Verde and Jules, and then moved away; keeping low and moving in and out of the gravestones.

He was barely visible crossing the grave yard – like a black shadow. And when he came to the wall, he could feel the magic there – and yet… He reached out to touch the stone, and found his hand resting against it. When he went to punch the wall though, moving fast, his hand swept straight through. And there was nothing – no wards – not yet, at least. Harry doubted that the Wizard responsible would only be protecting his house with this trick – but…whatever else there was would be on the other side.

Harry turned to glance back across the graveyard, and then let out a hoot, like a barn owl. Across they came, two at a time, flickering shadows moving from one gravestone to the next, until they were all around him, hidden in the shadows of different stones.

“There’s a single spell here, preventing you from approaching the entrance. I’m going to remove it, and you’ll be able to approach the wall. After that, you’re all going to have to run at the wall to pass through it.”

“Run at the wall? And break our noses?” Gordon murmured, looking up at Harry in confusion.

“It’s an old trick that I’ve come across before, myself. The wall isn’t really there – you just think it is. Beyond…well, I think the spell could physically take us anywhere within a one to ten mile radius. Are you ready?” And then he became distracted, glancing up to see Verde wandering away from the gravestones. He was tackled to the ground, by Jules, and said, quite loud enough for them all to hear: “Left the oven on: gotta get home.”

A few giggles were squashed quite quickly – but even Harry couldn’t help but smile, and he went to work removing the spell that tried to make them all leave. Once done, Harry looked back to Verde. “Still gotta go home, Verde?”

“No, Sir.”

“Harry.”

“Harry, Sir.”

Sighing, Harry shook his head. “Jules – will you give it a shot first. I don’t know if it will work on Muggles…I hope it does, or we’ll have to call off the mission. I can only imagine what Reg will say about us then…”

“Allright, Harry,” she turned towards the wall. “Here I go…”

She ran at the wall, and disappeared straight through it, drawing a gasp from Kate.

“Ready, everyone? Right…I’ll see you on the other side.” And so Harry dived forwards too. He came to a stop when he was through, finding Jules before taking in the surroundings.

Ahead of them was a moat, with an enormous castle build in the center. It was modern, Harry supposed, in comparison to Hogwarts. The walls were whitewashed, and four pristine turrets with red tiled roofs stood at each corner.

Most clearly, though, there seemed to be no obvious way to enter the castle – no bridge in sight to cross the moat.

“Wonderful…a regular Indiana Jones,” Jules said from beside him. Harry glanced towards her, perplexed, and she grinned at him, and explained. “In one of the Indiana Jones films, he has to cross a chasm – only there’s no bridge, no obvious way to get across…”

Jamie and Gordon had just appeared out of the space behind them, and had heard no more than the last part of Jules’ words – but they still knew what she was talking about and promptly butted in. “Turned out there was an invisible bridge crossing the chasm – he just had to have faith in himself to cross it.”

“Right,” said Gordon. “Hey, I didn’t know you were a Harrison Ford fan, Jules.”

An odd thing seemed to happen then: Jules; normally so controlled; flushed to the roots of her hair.

“She’s what?” Harry asked, squinting through the darkness as the two other men laughed. He turned away, sighing in dismay, and looking for the last two members of his team to arrive.

Verde and Kate ran straight into him, knocking him clear onto his back. Their eyes were tightly closed, which was why they’d not noticed that they were through, and hadn’t stopped. Apologizing, Verde helped first Kate to her feet, and then aided his Captain.

“Right,’ Harry mumbled, ruffled, “At least we’re all here now.”

Slightly exhausted from the very exuberance of his team members, Harry moved away from them, rubbing at the back of his neck as he made his way to the edge of the drop. He leant down and picked up a handful of dust, throwing it out in a wide arch around the end of the path. There was nothing – the dirt simply fell all the way down.

Well, it had been worth a try.

Harry was about to turn away when something caught his eye; the corner of a ledge, just in sight when he was standing at full height. He moved right up to the edge, and there it was: a set of stairs leading all the way down the edge of the moat. This meant that the entrance was most likely sub-ground level.

Turning back towards his team, Harry beckoned them forwards. They instantly fell silent again, creeping up towards the edge, and keeping low. Harry moved out onto the ledge and then lifted his hand up to the wall, slowly descending the stairway.

At the bottom he moved his wand in a half circle, reaching out with his senses for any magical signatures. Step by step he approached, placing one foot after another – senses constantly stretched. At the opposite wall of the moat, Harry moved his hands to touch against the wall.

There was nothing there, no door, no secret opening. Search as he might, he could find no sign of an entrance.

As Jules reached him, he allowed himself to curse for her hearing. “This Wizard is so…so fixated on his cleverness, that he doesn’t feel the need for wards to protect him. He’s just well hidden…well protected by his little tricks.”

“But to a logical mind, Harry…” Jules began.

Harry lifted his head and looked around again. “To the logical mind, the best way to hide an entrance is to make it not look like one, Jules. Now…we need the password.”

“Oh Harry, the password could be anything!”

“Nonsense,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Slytherin. Pureblood. Voldemort. Dark Lord. Dark Mark. Er…Arithmancy. Potions. Dark Arts. Avada…” But already the wall was opening up before them. Had ‘Potions’, or ‘Dark Arts’ been the password? It was impossible to say. None the less, Harry moved cautiously forwards, leading his team after him.

“Once I get the wards down inside the dungeons, Jules, I’m going to sneak up to the library. Get everyone back to the woods outside the Priory and follow them south in the direction of the Portsmouth safe house. If I get out safely, I’ll intercept you, and get us back home.”

“All this for a book, Harry?”

“A potions book, Jules. With a proper potions book, I can brew life saving remedies…”

“But Harry…”

Harry shook his head, silencing her. “I’m doing this, Jules. I’ll be in and out like a flash. I’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

“I hope so, Harry…” Jules murmured, though already Harry was moving ahead of her again, making his way deeper into the darkness, with his wand lit dimly before him.

Harry had no idea, this time, exactly where the dungeons ought to be. Logically, they ought to be low in the building – and so they would be – but Harry could not be sure what the catch would be. He assumed, therefore, that he would have to climb up in order to go down. He hated logic problems – Hermione had always been better at them to him. Still, he tiptoed over every floor before deciding which way he ought to be going, and through some incredible fluke managed to find his way, locating a long, spiral stone stairway that felt cold, and had a musty air.

At the bottom of the stairway, lo and behold, were the dungeons. There were no obvious defenses – but Harry made his way slowly through the room nonetheless, checking for secret rooms before finally deciding to go elsewhere. He stepped out of the way to let Jules past. “We ought to come out of the building at a similar time, considering the distance… Jules, just be careful – keep them quiet, and keep away from the upstairs bedrooms.”

Jules nodded, and kissed Harry briefly on the cheek before letting him go.

The library, however, was not as easy to find as the dungeons. It turned out to be on the first floor; but as Harry entered the room, he realized he had made an awful mistake. In the center of the room, the fire was cracking merrily, and candles lit up the silhouette of a figure with a book in his lap, and a wand in his hand: pointed straight towards Harry.


	6. Severus Snape

The silence stretched out for a long moment, both silent, with wands drawn upon each other. Harry didn’t dare move; he almost didn’t breathe. He’d been caught in a Wizard’s house, after so many successful missions.

Finally, the man across from Harry spoke a single word with a velvet voice that sent fear instantly down his spine. “Unpredictable.”

It was as though he’d become unstuck: Harry breathed again, and lifted his wand a fraction higher as he squinted through the darkness at the figure. If the man had been in profile, he knew he would have seen the hooked nose clearly – but from this angle, he could see hair: lots of hair, backlit by candlelight.

“Snape,” he spat.

“Correct,” Snape replied, evenly. “One right answer, however, Mr. Potter, will not make me forgive you a lifetime of wrong ones.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, standing his ground now, “I’m not a child any more, Snape. Your snarky comments can’t scare me any more.”

“That is true. You forget, of course, that there are other things that you are fraid of – that any warrior is afraid of.”

“Like?”

Snape kept his black eyes trained on Harry; at least Harry assumed that the eyes were fixed on him: in the darkness that was Snape’s face, Snape’s eyes were simply a darker pit than before. Harry waited in the silence that followed as Snape slowly rose from his seat, dressed in the long dark robes that Harry remembered so vividly from his youth. Harry found himself wondering just how maneuverable those robes might be if this turned into a conflict.

“Like imprisonment, your friend’s lives, the fact that I have only to touch my arm and the Dark Lord will be here within seconds…”

Harry tried not to flinch, but he did flick his gaze towards Snape’s hands to make sure that they were reasonably far apart.

“Your friends will be released, of course…without the burden of my prisoners.”

“You knew we were here all along!”

Harry knew Snape was smiling, though he still could not quite see his face. “Not all protective measures are so very obvious, Potter.”

“But if you knew we were here…then why didn’t you block our exit?”

“You forget,” Severus went on; he was almost purring now. “I did block your exit, Potter. I blocked every exit, timed perfectly in comparison to your previous entries.”

“An automatic lockdown?”

“Precisely.”

“So if I hadn’t made an excursion, I’d have been trapped in the dungeons with everyone else?”

“You’re thinking that your magic could have helped them escape?”

Harry nodded, flushing as he did so. Snape could see right through him; so much so that it was almost embarrassing.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter. You would have disappointed them. But now I can see for myself that you are truly alive.”

“You can see that I’m alive? Why does that matter if you’re going to turn me over to Voldemort?”

Snape approached, until Harry could see the features on his sallow face. He was sneering. “Do you really believe that if my intention were to turn you over to the Dark Lord, Potter, that I would not have already done it?”

“What do you want?”

“I want many things, Potter. Right now, I want you to put down your wand. I could take it off you, but it would be more amusing to have you willingly disarm.”

“Kissa,” Harry hissed, narrowing his eyes, but obeying none the less. He knelt down, forcing himself to open his hand to let the wand fall onto the carpet. He straightened up, rigidly, lifting his eyes up to Snape’s.

Harry did not hear the spell, but he had not expected to. Without warning he found himself rising off the floor, hovering about a foot above the ground. He kicked at the air, but no movement had any effect.

“Now since you’re just standing there, Potter, we are going to confer.”

“I have nothing to say to you!” Harry barked, furious.

“Now, now, Potter…you might not think you have anything to say, but you know a lot more about your more recent activities than I do.”

“My recent activites? What have they got to do with you?”

“You’re standing in my house, Potter. Your recent activities have a lot to do with me.”

Harry didn’t reply. He didn’t like being outfoxed by Snape; it made him feel terribly young again.

“Have you been searching for the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes?”

The question stunned Harry enough to make him blind stupidly at Snape, his mouth hanging open. “How do you know…?”

“I am the one asking questions tonight, Potter. Have you been searching for them?”

“I…I haven’t had time,” Harry said, then realized that he probably should not have said even that – shouldn’t have acknowledged that that was in fact what he’d been doing.

Snape, however, nodded grimly and moved towards where Harry levitated. Harry could see him more clearly now, the light casting extreme shadows with the help of his nose and hair.

“How do you expect to destroy the Dark Lord if you do not actively seek out his ending?”

Harry had a little more control of himself this time: he simply didn’t answer at all.

“I recently came into possession of a particularly interesting object, Potter. When you leave, I suggest you take it with you. You’ll find it in the top of the chest of drawers, inside a sealed envelope.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Snape. “You’re going to let me go?”

“If you cooperate; I thought I’d made that quite clear. But you go with my warning, Potter…I am not going to let you hide with the Resistance any longer. You shirk your duty to end the Dark Lord’s reign and you disgrace the memory and trust of Albus Dumbledore…”

“What do you care about Dumbledore!” Harry burst, unable to stop himself. “You killed him!”

“I do not expect you to understand the unshakeable loyalty that Dumbledore instills in his closest followers,” Snape said, pointedly. The remark struck home like a poisoned arrow, spreading doubts inside of Harry’s mind instantly. He chose not to voice them; closing his mouth tightly.

After a long pause, Snape continued. “I will ensure that the Dark Lord knows that you are alive, Potter. He will not let you rest after that. I suggest you discover his final Horcruxes and destroy him; sooner rather than later.”

“You can’t…”

“I can. I will.” Snape had moved closer now, and he lifted one hand up to brush over Harry’s cheek. It caught him so much off guard that Harry only swiped at Snape’s hand after the contact had been made. Snape stepped back, considering Harry appraisingly, in a way that made Harry feel like a tiny spec of dust on someone’s glasses.

“Personally, I don’t see why Dumbledore had such faith in you…” Snape began. “You’re still the same weedy, useless boy that you were five years ago. You don’t stand a chance against the Dark Lord.”

Harry fell for Snape’s jibe, just as the older man had expected him to. “I’ll kill him, Snape. Don’t think that I won’t.”

Severus’s hand trailed over his lower lip. Harry watched it, almost ferociously, wishing he could shove it up Snape’s overly large nose. It was as he envisioned this revenge, bitterly, that Snape stepped just a little bit closer, finding Harry’s gaze.

“Do it then, Potter; prove me wrong.”

“I will, Snape. Everything you ever assumed about me.”

Harry didn’t even swipe at him, even though he was in range of the dark haired older man. He could have clawed out his eyes from this distance, but he was satisfied to simply glare into them, full of hatred and animosity.

“I’ll be watching, Harry. If you fail to do your duty, then next time I capture you, it will be to turn you over to the Dark Lord.”

“I never asked for this, Snape!” Harry snarled, narrowing his eyes a little more. “I never asked for this life!”

Severus’ amusement did not reach his eyes. “No-one ever asks for the lives that they are forced to lead. But the longer you fail to act, Potter, the longer hundreds of thousands of people live in misery. The longer you fail to act, the more children are born into slavery, the more Muggles die, hunted like animals.”

Harry had nothing to say that, though his eyebrow twitched briefly. Snape had hit the nail on the head, and a whispering of remorse sprung up in Harry’s mind. All those people that he could save…

“There,” Severus murmured. “There’s that Gryffindor martyrdom I remember.”

“Fuck off, Snape.”

Snape merely smiled, and lifted his wand up again. Terrified, Harry jolted back and closed his eyes tightly. Harry collided with the floor near enough the exact same time that the crack of Snape’s disapparation sounded loudly in his ears. He fell to his knees out of shock, then grabbed his wand and whirled around, just in case Snape was by some luck still in the room. Nothing – he was gone…

Harry sighed and pulled himself back up to his feet, rubbing at the place where he’d landed on his arm, and moving cautiously over to the cabinet. He opened the drawer that Snape had alluded to, reaching to the very back.

Just as Snape had said, there was an envelope there, and when he pulled it back and opened it, he was very, very surprised to find a heavy silver locket that he vaguely recognized.

It was Voldemort’s Horcrux; the same one that Regulus A. Black had stolen many years ago, and had hidden in the House of the Blacks.

And Snape had given it to him.

Dealing with dilemma, Harry tucked the Horcrux and it’s envelope into his pocket, making his way over to the bookshelves, and looking through them for some that he could take with him. He needed to move fast, of course – he had no time to spare, as Snape would need an alibi for letting him go free.

Grabbing a potions book, and several other interesting looking tomes, Harry made his way back down the stairs, and caught up with Jules by the great door. “He locked us in, Harry! And then all of a sudden it just stopped…but, the prisoners all disappeared. Did you do it?”

Harry nodded. “Kind of. Look, I’ll explain later – let’s get out of here.” He turned away, looking around. “The table…come on – I’m sick of this place.”

He moved back over to the table, closely followed by Jules. “Besides, I think I’ll love chopping that bastard’s antique table up for firewood. Ready?” He pointed his wand at the table. “Portus.”

Fourteen seconds later, twelve wizards in black robes appeared with an enormous series of cracks, surrounding them. The next second, all of them were gone.


	7. Acts of the Traitor

Harry and his team appeared within a few whirling seconds, coming to a stop in the dark room where they had arrived last time. Teams of people were ready, waiting to help with the arriving rescued people, but when they saw that Harry was empty handed they all dispersed instantly, not wanting to be a part of the trouble that he would no doubt be in.

It was amidst this confusion of leaving people that Horatio arrived, looking panicked and forlorn. “Harry.”

Lifting his head wearily, Harry found the scared man’s gaze, and moved forwards to touch him on the shoulder. “What is it? What’s happened, Horatio?”

“I…I…the night after you left…”

Horatio paused here, to gulp in a breath. “They took Hermione. They took her away, and got her lost. They said that…that they spotted her wandering towards the direction of Stonehenge, and…they said that she was obviously mad, and that she’d escaped on her own. But Harry…Hermione knew she was safe here. They must have done it.”

It took a moment for this to sink in, and Harry, who was utterly exhausted, did not waste time in charging straight towards the exit, followed by Horatio and Jules. He couldn’t leave Hermione out there, and if he left now, just as morning began to open, he might have a chance of finding Hermione. Oh, but it was dangerous out in the daylight – you could be spotted, and then your life would be in danger, or worse.

For the most part, Harry was terrified that Snape’s threat would be coming to ground sooner rather than later. He had always been quick – with hand and with wit, and he would have needed to tell the Dark Lord that it had been Harry Potter who had forced him to leave his home. Oh yes…

Right now, Harry needed to get outside. But when he came to the gate, he found someone already waiting for them.

“I thought you’d be trying to head out, Potter,” Reg purred, his eyes narrowing with glee. “You don’t have permission to leave.”

Harry was in no state to wait on Reg’s distractions. “I don’t care if I have permission to leave or not,” he hissed. “You made Hermione leave, and I am going to go and recover her.”

Reg moved forwards, motioning towards the shadows, where Leela’s team came to join him. “Subordination! I’ll have you thrown away for this, Potter! I’ve been waiting for a very long time…”

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Harry drew his wand and pointed it straight at Reg’s heart, his green eyes glittering like Avada Kedavra itself. “Get the hell out of my way, Reg. Or I will kill you. You’re no better than that Death Eater scum that hunts us.”

“You leave, Potter,” Reg growled, though there was fear in his dark eyes, “And you aren’t coming back.”

“I wouldn’t want to come back. Don’t make me tell you to move again, Reg.”

Reg smirked, moving to step out of the way – but a raucous from further down the hall made him pause in midstep. Old Krone came tearing out of the shadows, a pair of captains behind him.

“Potter…we need to know what happened on your last mission, and we need to know now. We just received warning calls from Scotland, Portsmouth, Wales, London, Cambridge, Oxford, Chester, Liverpool…wizards in the air – hundreds of them – their lackies covering the ground…”

Harry’s jaw set as he looked towards Reg, then back towards Krone. “They’re looking for us. Give the call to lock down, conceal all exits. Whatever you do, don’t go above ground until it settles down.” He stepped past Reg, but was stopped again by Krone.

“Harry, in a lock down, I can’t permit you to leave.”

“I’ll either get captured, Mike, or I’ll find a way to draw their attention away from you. I’ll be heading towards London in the long term. You have to understand…Hermione is my the last living reminder of my childhood – before all this started. She means so much to me…”

Krone sighed, and lifted his hand to rub at his forehead. “Allright…go be the hero, Harry – but be careful.”

“I will. Hold the fort, Krone – and make sure this…” He turned to scowl at Reg, “This traitorous arsehole doesn’t endanger more lives. Because if I ever find out… He didn’t go on, but he did look worriedly back towards his old friend. “Hide well.”

“Good luck, Harry. Close up before you leave, eh?”

“I’ll need it,” Harry replied, drolly, making his way out of the door, closing it behind him. With the help of Jules and Horatio, they worked on the exit, covering it with ferns and rocks, so as to conceal it. When Harry was quite satisfied with this, he used a low level spell to ward away people who might come to the entrance. Low level spells, after all, were undetectable, and it would do a lot to protect the people within.

They hadn’t taken long, and Harry led away into the woods, in the direction of the coast. He wasn’t pleased with this direction: the coastline was open, and it was in the opposite direction to London – but at least in this direction, Harry knew where there was a small safe house full of supplies that they could conceal themselves in overnight.

They walked all morning, searching as far as three people could search without breaking cover, or losing sight of each other. When they stopped, it was mid afternoon, and they were hungry and tired.

Stopping just up the steep bank above a stream, Harry sat exhaustedly on the roots of a tree, and brought one knee up to his chest, letting the other dangle over the bank. “This is impossible…we’re never going to find her before they do.”

Harry sighed, lifting one hand to rub at his eyes. “Let’s share some food before we move on. I’ve still got a little of my travel food left. What about you, Jules?”

Jules sat down beside him, “Plenty. You know how little I eat. Here, I’ll share mine with Horatio.”

“Thanks, Jules,” Harry murmured, unpacking the small box full of rations from his pocket. Tablets, and dehydrated foods, mostly. From his other pocket he produced a flask of water, and he lifted it up and then sighed. “Looks like I’m out. How about you?”

Jules removed her flask from her pocket and tipped it over, flipping the cap off. Nothing. Not a drop inside. Reaching out, Harry snatched it off her. “I’ll go down to the stream and fill them up. Why don’t you two get started?”

He stood up and carefully began to pick his way down the edge of the bank, moving cautiously out from underneath the trees. At the stream he stepped out onto the top of a dry rock and placed the two flasks down next to him.

The water, when he splashed it onto his face, and into his eyes, was cool and clear; it’s scent clean, without a trace of anything dangerous in it. After a few moments of just waking himself up, he took up the flasks again and filled them each in turn. It was just as he closed the cap on the second one that he heard it, the crack of a footstep as it broke a twig.

Deciding better than to call out; Harry rose back to his feet and began to warily move in the direction of the sound. He moved upstream from one stone to the next, carefully avoiding slipping, or splashing.

Another crack, a rustle and a splash, this time followed by an expletive, just around the next meander told him that he was getting close, and he moved back to the bank and climbed up it, carefully inching over the top.

It was all he could do not to cast the Killing Curse on the spot. A member of the Household of Malfoy stood in the stream below, dark green and black house robes swaying in the motion of the water. He was turned away from Harry, but there was no mistaking the girl on her back in the water as being Hermione. “Gotcha, you dirty little…” he growled, loud enough for Harry to hear him.

He turned, and hollered into the forest, and Harry realized with a terrible shock that they must be in the middle of a searching ground. He let out a wild owl’s hoot, which he hoped desperately that Jules and Horatio would hear. The barn owl’s hoot meant hide. The screech owl meant run, and the nightingale meant attack; but right now, he used the barn owl. He needed them safely hidden.

Quickly, Harry edged up the last bit of the slope and clambered under a thick, bristly bush, to watch, and wait for the opportune moment.

“She’s not the same girl we started with,” this was a grumbling growl from the trees, before a large man that Harry recognized vaguely as looking like Crabbe emerged. His dark hair was graying around the edges, and Harry took a double take to make sure it wasn’t Crabbe. No, he was definitely too old; but it could easily be his father.

This suggested that the other man was Goyle’s father, perhaps.

Lo and behold, two mirror versions of the older men stomped noisily out of the forest. It was a surprise to them both to see Hermione, whom they both recognized, even with their pathetic memories.

“That’s Granger!” said Goyle, instantly, and Crabbe nodded, moving to get a better look at the frightened, wide eyed girl in the water.

Harry had just decided that he was going to attack when something was said that turned him to ice from the inside out.

“Where’s Draco?”

Malfoy was here? Malfoy, in this wood? Now? Harry found himself looking over his shoulder, trying to find him, all the while straining to hear from one of the four in the clearing as to where he really was.

“I don’t know. I hate taking instructions from that little twerp…” groused Crabbe Sr. “If his father wasn’t here, I’d probably…”

“Probably what?” This was Lucius Malfoy’s cool voice, from across the stream, and Harry had his first sight of the man for a very long time. His hair was still neat, tied back to protect it for the chase. His eyes, cool blue, except when he was angry, were a hard, steely grey.

Lucius Malfoy was a very patient man, but at this moment, he had just heard a threat against his son. Crabbe Sr. could not have expected less than what he received for being overheard. An instant Crucio brought him down to his knees in the stream.

“What have we here?” Lucius asked after a moment of watching the man switch and scream in Cruciatus, with an air of disinterest about his features. He turned towards Hermione, and carefully stepped closer. “This is not the girl we started out with…”

“It’s Hermione Granger, Sir,” Goyle said, hopefully.

“I can see that. Shut up for a second, Goyle…” Malfoy straightened up, and looked around, eyes narrowing. Harry was, for just a second, utterly convinced that Malfoy could see into the bush where he was hiding, with blue eyes like Mad Eye Moody’s; but when Malfoy didn’t instantly point him out and attack him, he was silently relieved.

“Sir?”

“Severus noted to me once that friends of Harry Potter do not often go where Harry Potter himself is not… If Granger is here…then perhaps Snape is right, and Potter really is alive.”

“He certainly seemed certain last night,” another voice, drawling and familiar; but this one came from right on top of Harry. Draco Malfoy could have been standing no more than a foot away from him, leaning against the tree. Again, Harry had the desperate urge to run; that he could not possibly be hidden well enough for Draco not to see him…

Thankfully, Draco had never seemed to be much of an observer. He stepped away from the tree, walking down the bank to peer at Hermione too. Six wizards in broad daylight! There was little chance of Harry and his friends rescuing Hermione now. If only he’d attacked when it was just Goyle!

“Mudblood,” Draco cajoled, when he laid eyes on Hermione. “I’ve been dying to get my hands on you, ever since this war began.”

Lucius stepped forwards, narrowing his eyes at his son. “I do hope…you wouldn’t consider…”

“Touching a Mudblood?! Father, I’m appalled that you would think so little of me!”

Hermione, obviously, had had quite enough of being talked about; she kicked Draco viciously in the leg and yelled ‘Harry’ furiously at him.

Draco kicked a spray of water and stones at her, viciously and then stepped away, squinting around the clearing. Apparently he could not see Harry, because he shouted. “Don’t worry, Potter! We’ll take good care of her for you! Of course you’re too cowardly to come out and save your friend!”

Digging his nails into the soft earth under the bush, Harry did his best not to react to Draco’s statements. He was trying to enrage him, get him to show his face. But for all Draco knew, Harry might not be there.

Lucius then lifted his voice, and Harry pushed his face down into the dirt to not respond to the older man’s words; because they were about Ron.

“Very well, Potter. If that’s the way that you want to play it,” he said, loud enough for Harry to hear, though if he were any further away, he might have had to listen harder. He wondered… No. Lucius wouldn’t be playing games with him if he knew he was here, would he? “Remember, Potter,” he said, malicious, but smooth. “The last time you were too late to save your friend. Imagine how terrible it would be to lose another. Come Draco, let’s go.”

“What about the Muggle hunt?” This from Crabbe.

Lucius waved his hand, and moved to scoop Hermione out of the water. “One Muggle is of no consequence. The wolves will get her tonight, I have no doubt of it.”

Harry experienced a brief worry on the subject of werewolves, but more important in his mind now was rescuing Hermione; and the fact that this was shaping up to be his walking straight into a trap. A trap set by Malfoy.

Maybe he could die, after all.


	8. Werewolves

  
Author's notes: Harry's world has crashed and burned - but still rebellious factions keep up the fight against the wizards. This is Harry's story; the story of liberation  


* * *

That night, they made good headway in the direction of Malfoy Manor; but Harry was naturally distracted, and eager to walk as fast as possible; much to the discomfort of Jules, who had short legs – and Horatio, who was of course a wizard, and had been his entire life; wizards did not, as far as Harry was concerned –unless they were attending Hogwarts; but that was a different matter – get enough exercise: always using the excuse of traveling my broomstick, magical carriage, knight bus or train, or whatever other method could prevent exhausting circumstances to be thrust upon them. Indeed, the only exercise they did receive was in their grand establishments: Harry had no doubt that Malfoy Manor would be grand too.

His immediate problems concerned the fact that Malfoy Manor would certainly be so big, and without proper intelligence he had no way to ensure that he would be able to find his way around: no less in the dark, and without having seen a map before.

He had no choice though. He could either go: risk his life and have the chance; he very great chance of not only having Hermione in Malfoy’s hands, and thus Voldemort’s hands; but he himself too.

He could expect torture: not just short torture, but perhaps years, or the rest of his life suffering… He could expect the same abuse, rape, starvation: but even knowing the risks, Harry could not possibly allow himself to allow his friends to suffer – especially Hermione, who had already been so much. Knowing those risks, but knowing her fate, he would throw himself into the fight like a mother dragon protecting her eggs: he had already lost Hermione once, and he would not do so again.

When morning drew around, and the tired hungry and sore bunch needed something to eat, It was towards three or four am when Harry heard it – distant at first, and then closer - a howl, feral and loud.

On the third howl - this time from a different direction - Jules lifted her head, and addressed Harry, “What was that?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Harry remarked, as cheerfully as he could manage.

Unfortunately for Harry, Jules’ remark had made Horatio pay much more attention; and being a wizard, Horatio was much more aware of the fact that a howl could very well mean werewolves: especially in this region of England where the normal variety were quite extinct.

On the fourth howl, Horatio said: “Nothing to worry about?! Harry, that’s a werewolf howl!”

“Nonsense,” Harry insisted. “Just an owl.”

“That’s not an owl.”

“Right now,” Harry murmured, frustrated, but desperately trying to keep his calm, “They haven’t heard us, or scented us. The moment you start to panic, they will smell you as clear as if you had just rolled in a pile or horse manure and shouted “Here I am” at the top of your damn voice.”

“And then…they’ll go quiet as they get into position to begin the chase,” He added, after a moment. “If we keep quiet, and don’t panic, they won’t even notice us here…unless they happen to cross our tracks, which is very unlikely. So just shut up will you?”

They went quiet, all three of them, and tried desperately not to be afraid, but after a long moment, Jules suddenly realized something, and she moved to tap Harry ever so gently on the shoulder. “Harry…they’ve gone quiet.”

“They…” Harry fell quiet again, and then looked between his two companions. “After the break in the trees, there’s a hill that mounts up to a church at the very top. If you follow the church wall around anticlockwise, you’ll come to a steep slope, with a grate at the bottom of it. You must blow it off, and get inside the hatch. It’s too small for werewolves. Leave it open for me. I’ll run up to the church around the base of the hill, and try and draw them off. “

He handed his wand to Horatio reverently. They won’t start the chase until we start moving. Run as fast as you can and don’t stop: do you understand? Protect Jules.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Jules mumbled, but took a deep breath to ready herself.

“Good luck.” Harry said, nervously, taking a step to his left. “Run.”

And so they all took off – Horatio and Jules together, but Harry alone, running straight into the woods, rather than along the path. He created as much of a noise as he possibly could, crashing and banging, and when he heard sounds of pursuit, he gave up making noise to simply run.

It was dangerous, and terrifying, and vaguely exhilarating; to be running away from death like that. Harry had no true sense of fear, though; there was a sense of power and surety that had come to him with age and experience. Even before Voldemort he had not wavered, but blundered on with both Gryffindor courage and Gryffindor luck.

He dived around one wolf who came up into his path, and kept running, breaking out into the open. He hoped that Horatio and Jules had come out of the woods further down the hill from where he was, but he didn’t spare a moment to glance – just kept circling the hill clockwise.

He could hear the wolves behind him, pursuing; their rasping barks to each other in the light of the moon, and he began to climb the hill, leaping over the church wall without care as to what he crashed into on the other side. He rolled painfully back to his feet and whirled to look in the direction he came, to see a wolf leaping over the wall easily, followed by another.

And then he howled, as loud as he could, and as long, and the wolves stopped and stared at him for a long moment, ears pricked forwards. It only gave him the seconds he needed to get back on his feet. After that he was winding in and out of gravestones again – and his call of distress had of course done what it had been intended for: it had summoned the wolves that had been chasing the others. They blocked his path, quickly, and Harry had to suffer a nasty scratch from getting too close in order to pass them.

He dived over the second wall, and used a lot of his forwards motion to buffer his fall, bouncing off the wall of the steep drop, before he crashed to a stop at the bottom, half hovering over the hole. He looked up, in time to see a black, furry shape with ivory teeth descending towards him, and pushed his legs over the edge, dropping into the pit blindly, and sliding down the entry to land in the safe lobby below with a painful thump.

Inside, Horatio was standing with Harry’s wand lit brightly, both he and Jules looking on in utter fear, just in case it was a wolf who had slipped down the hole.

“Just me…” Harry whispered, painfully pulling himself back up to his feet. “Let’s lock up this door, and get the lights turned on,” he groaned, moving to the exit, and stepping through the airlock without preamble. Beyond the airlock was the control room, and Harry made his way through it, knowing exactly where he was going.

Within a few moments, the whole place was lit up with overhead lights, and Harry’s second destination was to the storeroom, where he, Jules and Horatio simply sat down on the floor amongst the boxes.

Harry was in the midst of unpacking one box full of medical items when Horatio reached over to stop him. “I thought you were bleeding, but you’ve been hiding it from me. Let me see.”

Lifting his arm, Harry allowed Horatio to inspect it with his wand. “A werewolf inflicted wound; but not a bite…you’re lucky, Harry. How close did you allow those wretched beasts to get to you, anyway?”

“Too close,” Harry whispered, morosely, moving to rest his arm on his knee.

“Yes – I can see that. Well…I can heal them as best I can – but it won’t prevent scarring without the right potions too. A magically inflicted wound, you know…” He lowered Harry’s wand, then sighed. “A little Muggle first aid might help too, but there’s no point dealing with bandages and such things when there won’t be any blood.”

“Thank you, Horatio. I forgot that you said you’d been a Mediwizard.”

“You’ve had your mind on other matters, Harry,” Horatio replied, kindly, glancing up briefly to catch Harry’s eyes for a moment, before turning on towards Jules. “Well, how’re the food supplies?”

“Army rations, and such…but really, I’m hungry. I don’t think they’d mind if we took more than a normal ration’s share, don’t you?” As Jules spoke, Horatio began the work on the spells to heal up Harry’s arm.

“No, I don’t think they would. I could eat a box full of rations to myself,” Harry laughed, before glancing back towards Horatio. He could hear him, ever so faintly; though his voice was almost whispered: A song – eerie, and disturbingly familiar.

Harry snatched his arm back before Horatio could finish what he was doing, clutching it to his chest. “That spell…” he whispered, breathlessly.

“Yes?”

“It…Snape used it on me once…I just…”

“Severus Snape?” asked Horatio, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Well, yes. I…Why?”

“You have to be pure of intention to use the spell, that’s all,” Horatio said, waving his hand. “As I recall, Snape killed Dumbledore. That doesn’t sound much like pure intentions to me.”

“It wasn’t. He was a murderer.” Harry snapped, bluntly – though he was beginning to have doubts, even as he sat here, his eyes unable to fix on Horatio, because he did not truly believe the words he was saying.

Horatio obviously realized it was a sore subject, because he gave Harry a long moment, and then changed the subject. “Can I finish healing your arm now?”

Sighing, Harry pushed out his arm, and with his other hand, dug into the ration kit that Jules handed over to him without further preamble.

“Wow,” he mumbled, “I never thought these things could taste so good.”

“Amazing isn’t it?” said Jules, who was on her second tray. “They always taste better on an empty stomach.”


	9. Lupine

Harry awoke to a pain in his hip, as though he had slept on a painful rock that jutted into him uncomfortably. He shifted until he got himself back into a seated position, his back against the stacks of boxes. When he discovered that there was nothing underneath him, he looked in his pockets - and there it was; the locket that he had forgotten in the rush of Hermione's rescue attempt.

He lifted it up before him and considered it thoughtfully. Slytherin's locket... But how had Snape had it, and how had he known what it was? 'How' could wait until another time, though - right now, Harry had to destroy the wretched thing. 

But there was one problem. A quite significant one, really... He'd never destroyed a Horcrux before, and he wasn't exactly sure how he ought to go about doing it. And beyond that, what kind of strength of magic might he need? He couldn't risk bringing wizards down on their heads. And what kind of magic would be inside the Horcrux? Would there be any protective elements inside the locket?

Sighing, Harry placed the silver locket on the floor, and folded his legs up, looking down at it accusingly. Beside him, Jules and Horatio slept on.

Harry took his wand out of his pocket, and pointed it at the locket. "Reducto!" he hissed, deliberately.

The shot of red light hit the locket, made it glow slightly, and then disappeared. "Is that it?" he asked himself, reaching out to touch the locket. It was warm...and yet there was something not quite right about it - he could almost feel Voldemort's presence in the locket, and when he realised what the feeling was, a jolt of pain leapt up his arm, and made him yell - scar burning.

Harry dropped his wand, reaching up to cover his forehead. His noise had roused both Jules and Horatio, and they had both turned to look at him expectantly.

"What did you do?"

"Trying to destroy this...but..." Harry sighed, and picked the locket up again, turning it in his fingertips. This time, the presence was not there - it was a cold, boring locket again.

"What is that?" Jules spoke this time, leaning over to take the locket off him. "Oh...it's beautiful."

Harry sighed and shook his head. "Beauty is always the perfect disguise." He settled his hands in his lap and watched Jules handle the locket. "Do you recognise the crest, Horatio?"

The wizard tilted his head, leaning close to peer at the locket. "That's...well, if I'm not very much mistaken, that's Slytherin's crest."

Nodding, Harry reached out to take the locket back. "It's a powerful magical object...and it needs to be destroyed; but I can't quite figure out how I ought to do it."

"Well; surely a simple reductor curse ought to destroy it?" Horatio asked, still looking at the locket in Harry's hand.

"No," Harry sighed. "I don't know why, but it simply isn't working...I'll think on it, I guess." He lifted the locket, and hung it around his neck, tucking it neatly into place under his shirt. "If I think of anything, I'll try it - but until then...well, we have to save Hermione." He sighed, rubbing at his neck. "I don't think I can get any more sleep now. How about you?"

“I’m quite awake,” Jules replied, lifting one hand to rub the back of her neck. “Couldn’t sleep after that anyway…”

“Me neither,” added Horatio.

“Let’s get moving then,” Harry summarized, stepping towards the door. “We can collect some food on our way out.”

Outside the bunker; the dawn light was creeping up. Some distance away, a group of naked men and women slept, their bodies wrapped together for warmth. When Harry saw them, he called to Verde and Horatio to wait, and hurried over before either of them could stop him.

Jules was at Harry’s side immediately, simply by practice, while Horatio hovered behind, his dark eyes darting back and forth. “You should put them out of their misery,” he said, quickly, clearly not wanting to come any closer.

“It’s close minded thoughts like that,” Harry snapped, quickly, “That put them in this position in the first place. If you’d let them learn, they could have fought with us, instead of being used against us.” He circled the group, and just as he had almost completed his revolution he fell to the ground upon his knees, his hands falling onto the shoulders of one of the sleeping men.

“Remus!” he called softly. “Remus, wake up!”

The werewolf stirred; brown eyes opening to look up at Harry, sleepy unawareness in his eyes, and then confusion. Clearly Remus had dreamt of this kind of thing…how could he know that he wasn’t still sleeping?

“Harry?” came the soft, worried question, making the wizard beam, brightly.

“It is me, Remus. Oh Remus...!”

The reuniting of the two was baffling, and performed in complete silence. There was hugging and more hugging, excited whispers, but little more. “You have to go Harry,” Remus finally said to the overexcited young man. “They’ll be coming to collect us soon…”

“Then you’ve got to come with us,” Harry declared, standing back up. “Or at least hide…come on, you can come to the bunker…”

Remus shook his head, sadly, his chocolate eyes fixed on a distraught Harry. “I can’t come, Harry. I’ve been chipped.” He brought his hand up to where a bulge sat under the skin, just under his ear.

“Chipped?” Harry asked, weakly, moving closer. “What is that, Remus?”

“A locator,” the other replied, regarding Harry sadly. “If I come with you, then they’ll know where we are…and you’ll be caught. And I don’t want you to die now that I know you’re alive, Harry…Give me that hope, please…”

“What? Remus…I can’t just leave you…”

“You must, Harry…” Remus replied, firmly. “I’ll be allright,” he said, “I’ve survived this long already…”

Jules stepped forwards just at that moment, one hand falling on his shoulder. “There’ll be time to save everyone later, Harry. You can’t do everything at once. Come on, though…”

Harry lunged forwards, giving Remus another tight hug, then let himself move back slowly, his eyes wet, reaching up to dry them with the back of his hand. “I’ll get you free, Remus…I promise.”

“I know you will Harry,” Remus urged, his eyes flickering to the stirring figure of the largest of the men laid out beside him. “Now go, Harry. Quickly! I face the coming day better knowing that you’re alive.”

Harry smiled, broadly. He certainly felt like he could face even a Malfoy trap with a light heart, now that he knew that Remus was alive – it was almost too good to be true.

They had barely reached cover at the church when they discovered that it truly was too good to be true. Eight or nine wizards appeared with a crack, stirring the werewolves from their slumber and lining them up even as they dozed on their feet. One woman fought, and was quite brutally put back into her place, before all at once they disappeared, leaving nothing in the morning haze but birdsong.

* * * * *

In his office, the former Headmaster of Hogwarts’ office, one Dark Lord was eating his breakfast, his red eyes fixed unbrokenly upon the reserved man who sat opposite him. Severus Snape had returned this morning to repeat that which he had said at the meeting the previous night. His story had not changed in the slightest.

And so Voldemort simply had to accept that Harry Potter was indeed alive and leading one of those troublesome pockets of resistance that had so far been a thorn in his proverbial side.

Truly the boy had excellent powers of survival. He had simply disappeared when the war heated up, and the Dark Lord had presumed him dead. With no word of his continued existence, it was so easy to suppose so. There had been rumours, of course – but every hero and martyr left rumours of his miraculous return in his wake; he would have been a fool to believe them.

But Snape? Voldemort believed Snape…the man was not the kind to dream up false pretences. If he said that Harry Potter was alive, then the brat was certainly alive, no doubt about it.

In any case, the Dark Lord, despite being distressed that the boy could have slipped under his radar, was distinctly pleased that he still had a final meeting with his archenemy to look forward to. It would seal his victory, and if he was lucky, crush any tiny spots of resistance that still remained.

There was an interruption to his consideration of Severus Snape over his breakfast. Wormtail, uncouth as ever, rushed in gripping a letter in his silver hand, watery blue eyes flicking first to Voldemort, who remained impassive, to Snape, who tilted his head questioningly, examining Pettigrew in the same way that he might have done a slug in his path.

“From M-Malfoy,” he simpered, approaching quickly. “It’s about P-Potter.”

Voldemort took the letter from Wormtail, opening it and peering over the words scrawled there. A smirk spread across his snakelike features, and he turned his predatory eyes back to his two Death Eaters.

“Things seem to be looking up,” he proclaimed. “Soon, we shall find out just how Harry Potter has avoided us all these years.”


End file.
